


The Art Of Sleeping With

by nu_breed



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-09
Updated: 2011-05-09
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:18:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nu_breed/pseuds/nu_breed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bradley isn't gay. He's just unnaturally obsessed with Colin's sex life, is all. (contains Bradley/other, Colin/others)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art Of Sleeping With

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moonilicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonilicious/gifts).



> This is for moonilicious who won me in the help_nz auction. Thanks to nympha_alba and ella_bane for the beta, and to hermette for cheerleading.

Bradley isn't bent. He's not even metrosexual; which is, he thinks, the stupidest concept ever invented. Metrosexuals wear pink and let their girlfriends walk all over them, and cry in movies. Bradley doesn't cry in movies or wear pink, and he doesn't have a girlfriend because he's too busy shagging his way through the female population of Cardiff. He is, in fact, a muscled, straight, butch, football playing, beer guzzling, red-meat-eating man who loves tits and shapely thighs, and wanks off to fantasies of his female co-stars kissing open mouthed and going down on each other with their skirts hitched up to their hips.

None of this explains why, when Colin Morgan comes out to him, halfway through third season filming, his first thought is _I wonder what he looks like when he's on his knees._ His cock doesn't seem to remember his manly straightness at all, in that moment. Not one bit.

Bradley really hates his brain quite a lot, because ever since Colin revealed that little tidbit, it's like it has absolutely refused to think about Katie and Angel and Emilia at all. No. Now he's constantly bombarded with images of Colin kissing Eoin or Santiago or even bloody Anthony, which is wrong in so many ways, he doesn't even know where to start. It doesn't help when Colin suddenly develops some sort of oral fixation, and starts to suck on things with alarming regularity: his fingers, pens, ice lollies. It's really quite distracting. His mouth looks so-- inviting.

"Do you think it's possible to be gay for one person?" he asks Richard, in between shots.

"Do _you_ , Bradley?" Richard is doing that eyebrow thing, and just staring at him, it's very Gaius-like.

"Nah," he says, distractedly, "probably not." Colin is laughing at something Rupert's just said, and he can't help but notice the way his chest feels like it's being squeezed with the sheer force of Colin's wide grin.

***

Georgia is a surprise. She's blokey and fun, and she doesn't complain when Bradley wants to talk about football or spend an entire night out drinking instead of taking her out to dinner or to a movie or all the other sorts of things that "normal" couples do.

Bradley doesn't usually date actors that he works on projects with, but for some reason this is okay.

When he kisses her, he doesn't, for once, think about dark hair and white skin and high cheekbones. He doesn't think about what it would feel like to press Colin against the wall of his hotel room and brush his lips against his.

Georgia isn't Colin, she's soft and blonde and it feels normal and safe and maybe, just maybe, Bradley could fall in love with her.

***

The wrap parties always start off terribly civilized, thanks to Richard's influence, and deteriorates into alcoholic debauchery and Stumpy taking his pants off and all-night drinking games that should really send them all to the hospital.

Georgia's filming in Buckinghamshire, and Bradley knows how he gets at these parties, so he errs on the side of caution, limiting his alcohol intake, and staying the hell away from Colin.

He doesn't go terribly well with either.

It's been relatively easy to pretend that 'the Colin thing' as he likes to call it was nothing more than a phase, brought about by spending too much time together and a morbid curiosity with gay sex. Having a girlfriend to concentrate on has meant he really hasn't had the time to devote to obsessing over things like Colin's mouth and what it would feel like wrapped around his-- He had figured that whatever had been there to start with was gone now, pushed far far back in his mind, and given he was getting really good sex regularly, sex with Colin was just about the furthest thing from his mind.

It all comes crumbling down of course, when they end up at Katie's apartment with three bottles of tequila and limes and salt.

"You can't not drink, James," she says, poking him in the chest with a perfectly-manicured finger. "It's our last night together for ages, maybe forever. How would you feel if we didn't get renewed and you had missed out on a night of alcoholic bonding with your family, hmmm?"

"Cheap shot, McGrath."

"Yes! Shots!" Angel yells across the room.

Bradley groans, but he knows he's going to give in, and when Katie pours a line of shots for Angel, Greg, Rupert and herself, he mumbles, "Well, you may as well pour one for me, too."

Just then there's pounding at the door and Katie runs over to open it revealing a very lopsided Colin, being held up by an equally lopsided Eoin.

"Oh marvellous, the entire Irish Republic's here," Rupert groans. "Hide the alcohol, for God's sake."

Bradley is too busy staring at the line of Colin's throat and the way his face is pressed into Eoin's to even acknowledge what Rupert is saying.

"You know what?" Katie says, grabbing one of the tequila bottles and the bowl of lime wedges, "bring the salt, James, shots are overrated."

They end up in the middle of her living room floor drinking tequila from the bottle and chasing it down with lime and salt. Colin is already completely pissed, he's a lightweight anyway, what with the fact he's about the size of a toothpick. But the rest of them aren't far off, and by the time they finish the first bottle of tequila, Bradley is severely worried that they're all going to end up getting their stomachs pumped.

Colin looks like a rag doll. He's dividing his time between Angel and Eoin, being exceptionally huggy. Bradley doesn't think twice about him being plastered all over Angel, but Eoin? Bradley feels his cheeks flushing at the sight of the two of them, laughing and wrapped around each other. He can't decide whether he's pissed off or turned on. Probably both.

Angel decides that an empty tequila bottle is good for only one thing, and before he knows it, she's spinning the bottle clockwise and pulling Rupert in for a hearty snog.

Colin is the next to spin, and Bradley feels his stomach clench with dread and desire and want and he knows he needs to back out of this potential situation right now. If he had to kiss Colin, he doesn't know how he'd be able to stop.

"I-- I think I'll sit out," Bradley stammers, "girlfriend and all, you know."

He looks over at Colin, who's glassy-eyed and pink-cheeked and Colin looks back at him and grins wide.

"Your loss," he says, and sets the bottle spinning. It lands on Greg.

Colin tilts his head as if asking for permission. Greg just laughs and says, "Haven't got all night, Cols, go on then."

Bradley doesn't want to look, but he also couldn't look away if he was being paid to. So he watches as Colin climbs into Greg's lap, one thigh on either side of his hips and presses his lips against his. Greg moans a little and opens his mouth and Bradley can see their tongues sliding against each other for what feels like minutes, Colin's eyelashes fluttering shut and his hands gripped in Greg's hair.

"Well," Katie says, breaking the silence, "that's going to be a tough act to follow, isn't it?"

Colin pulls back and Bradley can see how wet and used his mouth is. He doesn't know where to look, how to act, he'd normally be cracking a joke right now but he can't calm down enough to be able to form thoughts, let alone words.

When Colin rolls off of Greg, he is blushing, and grinning like Bradley's never seen him before.

"Wish I'd thought to film that." Eoin's voice is slightly shaky, and Colin reaches over and slaps him across the back of the head.

"Ow!"

"Well," Colin shrugs. "You deserved it. Perve."

Eoin's grin is wide and dirty and Bradley wants to punch him in his pretty face.

***

Bradley doesn't know how the two of them manage to get back to the hotel without falling into some ditch somewhere, but two completely rat-arsed heads are better than one, apparently, because they wind up in Colin's room on his bed, ordering room service and raiding the mini-bar because if there's one thing they need, it's clearly more alcohol.

God. They are going to be paying for it come morning.

Bradley positions himself at the end of the bed, far away from Colin. Proximity is probably the only thing saving him right now, and he doesn't want to think about the fact that if he were just to move up the bed, he'd be so close to Colin he'd be breathing his air and then all it would take would be for him to turn his face and--

Georgia. He repeats it over and over in his head like a mantra. Georgia Georgia Georgia.

"So Greg?" He finds himself saying, trying to tamp down the bitter taste in the back of his throat. "looked pretty cozy."

"He's a really good kisser," Colin says, and the way he's speaking, all lazy and elongated vowels makes Bradley's gut feel with liquid heat. "And those arms? God, I'd love him to just throw me down and-- you probably don't want to hear any of this."

Colin laughs and stretches his arms above his head. Bradley can see the smallest patch of skin between where his t-shirt ends and where the waistband of his jeans begins. He wonders what it would taste like.

"Actually," Bradley says before he can stop himself, "I'm really intrigued. I mean, I'd like to understand what it is that you--"

 _What it is that you do. In bed. I need to know._

"You must be drunk," Colin says, laughing.

"How long?" Bradley asks," how long have you known that you liked--"

"That I liked taking it up the arse? I dunno, a long time. Since the first time I gave Danny McManus a hand job. I was fourteen, maybe?"

The idea of it: fresh-faced Colin with his hand down some other boy's pants? It's making him so hard he can't even breathe.

"What does it feel like?" He asks, trying not to sound as turned on as he is. "Being-- y'know."

"Being fucked?" The way Colin says it, the way he emphasises the f, makes it sound like the filthiest thing in the world.

"Yeah." Bradley looks up then, and he instantly wishes he hadn't. Colin looks like some kind of gay fantasy: all long skinny limbs and flushed cheeks and wet mouth and he's biting his lower lip as he tries to think of what to say in response to Bradley's highly fucking inappropriate question.

"Do you really want to know?" He asks, breathless.

Bradley nods, unable to take his eyes off Colin, his eyes so deep-blue and intense. He takes a deep breath and his eyelashes flutter shut just like they did when he was on top of Greg, kissing and touching and God, Greg was so much bigger than him, could easily have moved him any way he wanted. Bradley wants to be the one to do that.

"It's amazing," Colin whispers, his eyes still shut and Bradley is grateful they are because he doesn't know if he could handle this if Colin was looking at him. "Being held down, fingered open, mate there's nothing like it. And then when you're being fucked? You feel so full you can't breathe, and it feels so good you never want it to stop."

Fuck. It's too much. Colin's teeth digging into his lip, his hands clenching at his sides and Bradley knows he wants to touch himself. If he just leaned over right now and put his hand on Colin's crotch, he knows he'd be hard. As hard as Bradley is.

He can't. Not like this.

There's a knock at the door just then. Room Service.

"I'll just-- gotta piss." Bradley practically runs to the ensuite and shuts the door behind him.

He hasn't done this before, touched himself thinking about Colin, or any man for that matter, but he can't not. His head is full of it: images of Colin being held down and fucked with fingers and cock, and he gets his jeans and boxers down before he can even think twice, wraps his hand around his cock and sets a punishing rhythm.

He doesn't last long, despite the alcohol, and Bradley bites his other hand to stop himself from yelling Colin's name when he comes.

When he's composed himself enough, he opens the ensuite door and the first thing he sees is Colin, cross-legged on the floor, shovelling chips into his mouth and licking his fingers.

He wonders exactly what it is he's done to deserve this.

***

It gets worse during hiatus.

Georgia's in LA auditioning for pilots and Bradley doesn't have any auditions at all, so there's really nothing for him to do but sit at home, growing facial hair and feeling sorry for himself. His thoughts inevitably drift to his career, or more to the point, the fear that he actually doesn't have one. Bradley lets himself imagine how horrible it would be if he didn't manage to find work after Merlin ended, and what it would be like to be known as Arthur forever. He'd most likely end up doing nothing but attending horrid conventions where he gets manhandled by Ren-Faire obsessed girls with Mrs Arthur Pendragon tramp stamps for the rest of his life.

It's too depressing to even think about, so instead he ends up scouring his hard drive for porn, and he's absolutely devastated to discover that every clip he has saved, including the one of Jenna Jameson and Nikki Tyler fucking on a balcony, fails to even give him the vaguest hint of arousal.

There is something wrong with his libido, clearly. It's tall and lanky and speaks in an unintelligible accent and its name rhymes with Dolin Corgan.

He finds himself on some gay porn website, and the guys don't do anything for him at all, all waxed chests and steroids and he's rather relieved that he isn't inexplicably gay like he thought he might have been, but he clicks on another site just for the hell of it and-- Oh. _Oh_.

It's Colin. Well, obviously not _really_ Colin, but it could be his identical fucking twin, and the similarity is so fucking uncanny that it takes his breath away. The cheekbones, the hair, the fucking _ears_ , and oh God. The mouth. Bradley can't stop looking at it, the way it slides down the other man's cock, lips stretched wide and cheeks full and moaning around it, drooling, like he is dying for it.

The Colin-a-like's eyelashes flutter as the other guy stands over him, fucking his mouth, hands in Not Colin's hair.

It's hot. It's really fucking hot and Bradley is ridiculously fucking turned on at the thought of his best friend having his face fucked by some very well-endowed man.

He licks his hand, wraps it around himself and starts to stroke. It isn't remotely the same, but with his hand wet as he can get it, he can imagine quite well just what it would feel like to have Colin's mouth on him: full and wet as he stares up at Bradley from under those ridiculous eyelashes, those huge blue eyes fixed on his. Bradley hasn't wanted anything so badly in years, and he comes with the image of Colin, mouth red and used and looking up at him like nothing else exists in the world but Bradley.

This is becoming a habit, and he can't pretend anymore that it isn't serious. He can't stop thinking about him, and Bradley runs a hand through his hair and wonders what the fuck he's supposed to do now.

***

He flies to LA to spend time with Georgia. It's nice. It's lovely, in fact, and just what he needs to take his mind off-- everything. The UK feels like baggage and complications and things that he shouldn't, _can't_ think about. Georgia is fun and smart and easy to be around and Bradley loves America and Americans, so it feels easy.

Everything feels simple and uncomplicated and he only thinks of Colin maybe once a day the whole time he's there.

They eat at Katsuyas overdosing on Crispy Rice and Spicy Tuna and Asahi beer, and when the tall, tanned waiter flirts with him, Bradley doesn't mind at all. He tries to tell himself he's only being polite, and maybe, just maybe if he tells himself that enough times he can believe it.

He and Georgia spend the next day in bed, ordering room service and playing Angry Birds on their iPhones, and Bradley likes this, could get used to this. But he feels something coiling in his gut, edgy and bitter.

When he checks his email on Georgia's laptop, he sees one from Colin asking him when he's coming to see the play.

He fights the desire he has to email him back with an _Uh, sorry mate. Terribly busy, don't think I'll make it_ because even though he's a bloody coward, the idea of hurting Colin is something that he can't even consider, so he tells him he'll come when he gets back.

He kisses Georgia afterwards and she tastes like strawberries, her thighs soft under his hands.

***

Colin is brilliant as Carlos. Of course he is, and Bradley spends the entire first act trying not to think about what Colin's wrists would feel like if Bradley gripped them with his hands. How his longer hair would feel wound tight in Bradley's fingers, and any number of other sex-filled fantasies that he shouldn't be having because he isn't there to objectify someone whose work he happens to have the utmost respect for.

Only his brain and his body don't seem to be in tune, because the moment he sees Colin after the performance, in his jeans and ratty t-shirt and his jacket that's three times too big for him, Bradley's mouth dries up and his cock throbs in his jeans.

"Hey," he manages, and pulls Colin in for a hug which he hopes doesn't bring Colin's attention to the fact that Bradley's more than halfway to hard.

"I'm dying for a drink," Colin says, squeezing Bradley's shoulder. "Y'fancy one?"

Bradley should say no. He should run far, far away and just go home and have a wank and try to pretend that he hasn't been thinking of Colin's mouth for the last few months. But he's never been the smartest bloke in the world, so he just nods and finds himself sitting in the bar at The Royal Court, hand wrapped around a Peroni and trying not to stare at the remnants of black kohl framing Colin's eyes.

Colin catches him looking though, and squints like he's thinking very hard about it.

"I'm still orange, aren't I?" He says, wiping his cheek with a serviette. "It's all that manky base they make me wear."

"Well, you do look like an albino on a good day," Bradley bites back, draining his beer, "but no it's-- you look fine. Honestly."

Colin's phone goes off then, and Bradley goes up to the bar to get them another round.

By the time he gets back, Colin's tearing the label off his empty bottle.

"Fancy a bit of a hooley?" He asks.

"Good lord, man." Bradley passes Colin a beer and takes a huge sip from his. "Do I need to bring an interpreter with me every time I see you? Because I can barely understand a word you say, you know. Speak English, mate." He punctuates it with signing gestures, which would be terribly offensive if anyone were to see him, but he can never pass up an opportunity to fuck with Colin, even now, when he's trying just to get through a conversation without staring too long and too hard.

"A party, you loon," Colin says, taking a drink. "It's at Eugene's. He's the one who played Sergio? I mean, if you'd rather not we can just stay here, but I thought maybe--"

"Sounds fine," Bradley says, cutting him off. "I mean, I've got nothing else planned tonight, so we may as well."

"Okay." Colin's fingers tighten around his beer bottle, and Bradley can't help but stare at them: long and slender and nimble. He wonders what they would feel like wrapped around his-- "So how's Georgia?"

Bradley feels his stomach roil. "She's-- uh, she's good. We're just, you know, casual. It isn't serious."

It isn't a lie. After LA, she'd called him and told him she felt like things weren't as easy, as natural as they had been. That they should still see each other and hang out and all that, but that she didn't think his head was in it. Georgia has always managed to read him perfectly.

Colin nods. "As long as you're happy, mate." His expression is unreadable and Bradley wishes Colin wasn't so fucking enigmatic sometimes. The fact that he can't ever tell one way or the other what Colin is thinking means that Bradley has to assume things. Things that he probably shouldn't ever think about, because there's no way they'll ever happen.

"And you?" Bradley finishes his beer and dares to look Colin in the eyes. "Are you seeing anyone?"

Colin bites his lip. "I-- yeah. I am. You'll meet him at the party. He's Eugene's flatmate."

Bradley swallows and the back of his throat tastes like bile, but he fake-smiles and says, "Wow that's great, glad you've--"

"It isn't serious either," he half-whispers and drains the rest of his beer, "not yet anyway."

Not yet. Bradley feels like he might be sick.

"Good for you Col," he manages through gritted teeth. "I'm happy for you, really. Fantastic!"

It's much more enthusiastic than he was aiming for, and he wonders if Colin buys it. For an actor, Bradley knows he's a truly appalling liar.

***

Colin's boyfriend (or fuckbuddy or whatever his name is) is named Alex. He's tall and dark-haired and gorgeous and built like Eoin fucking Macken and Bradley _hates_ him on sight even before the utter wanker opens his mouth.

When he does, however, Bradley wants to kill himself. Or more accurately, kill him. Slowly.

His current job? Only the RSC. The role he's playing? Only fucking Mercutio. And of course he's RADA-trained. The only thing that would make it worse would be if his cock was bigger than Bradley's. He's tempted just to go ahead and tell him to whip it out right then and there.

"So, Bradley. What have you been up to over the break?" Alex asks, in his stupid, over-enunciating voice. It's all Bradley can do not to bare his teeth.

"I thought I'd take a break," Bradley says, fake-smile plastered on as he downs his third beer in half an hour and tries not to look at the tosser's hand stroking up and down Colin's hipbone.

"Oh nice, wish I could do that. Unfortunately I'm far too busy for that this year," he says, pressing his face to Colin's neck.

"You know what? I'm just going to go and get another drink." Bradley points towards the kitchen. "Anyone want anything?"

"I think I'm good," Colin says, his eyes fixed on Bradley.

He doesn't wait to hear if Alex wants a drink. Sometimes being petty is awfully fun. As is having long and detailed fantasies about breaking the arsehole's fingers and shaving his eyebrows off in his sleep.

"I don't like him," Bradley slurs in Colin's ear later, when they get back to Bradley's hotel room. "I don't like him at all."

"I know, mate," Colin sighs. "I know."

***

The hangover is possibly the worst that Bradley has ever had. He wakes up with his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his tongue thick and useless in his dry mouth.

Colin isn't there, and he can't really remember what happened last night, just that Colin was with him when he unlocked the door to the room and that he isn't there now. However, Bradley isn't in the clothes he had been wearing the night before; he's in his boxers. Which means that Colin--

Oh God. He can't remember. Colin Morgan had his hands on him and Bradley can't even fucking remember. Aside from the absolute unfairness of it, of not being able to remember what Colin's hands had felt like stripping the clothes from his body, there's another much bigger issue. The fact that Bradley can't remember whether he said anything, or worse, _did anything_ , during the aforementioned disrobing.

It's completely fucked is what it is.

He rolls over and grabs his phone, ignores the ten missed calls from his Mum, Georgia and several unknown numbers and composes a message: _sorry about last night. blame the beer and tequila etc etc._. He hits send before he can talk himself out of it, and drags himself to the shower.

Bradley stands with one hand on the tiles and the other on himself: thinking about Colin and those gorgeous hands stripping him of all his clothes. Thinks about Colin kissing him wet and dirty and sinking down on his cock, riding him until his thighs start to shake and the sweat is pouring off his forehead.

This, wanking while thinking about Colin, has become a terribly bad habit and his orgasm, when it comes, nearly knocks him on his arse.

He's getting dressed after his shower when he gets a text back from Colin.

 _we need to talk. soon as you can come over._

Bradley's heart leaps into his throat, and his hands are shaking when he replies with _see you in an hour_.

***

Colin looks about as bad as Bradley feels when he comes to the door. He's unshaven, his eyes are bloodshot and he looks as pale as Bradley's ever seen him.

Bradley wants to reach out and pull him in for a hug, but he's also pretty much terrified to.

"You want to come in?" Colin says, his voice scratchy and husky. It makes Bradley's stomach flip.

"Unless you'd rather hang out here in the corridor?" Bradley smiles, but it's a pathetic half-gesture, and Colin doesn't really respond apart from a little twitch in the corner of his mouth.

Colin stands aside so he can step through the door, and Bradley takes a deep breath and walks through, letting Colin shut the door behind him.

He feels awkward. He has no idea where to sit or what to do, and Bradley isn't used to feeling like this: awkward and unsure and not in control. He'll admit it, confidence is not usually an issue for him, and no-one's ever made him feel all twisted inside and out like Colin does.

This is so much more than just a sex thing. He doesn't just want Colin, he wants to be with him, and that makes everything so much more complicated.

"You want something to drink?" Colin asks, heading for the kitchenette.

"Um. Yeah. Water, thanks." Bradley throws himself down on the sofa, his heart pounding loud and rhythmic in his chest.

Colin comes back with a couple of glasses of water. He hands Bradley his, and puts the other on the table. He sits down next to Bradley, angling himself in so the two of them are facing. Colin inhales deeply through his nose, and he looks like he's struggling.

"So you wanted to talk?" Bradley can barely get the words out, he's so fucking nervous. "Is it about last night? Because I have to warn you Cols, I really don't remember much about it from the party on."

"Right." Colin clears his throat. "So you don't remember telling Alex he was an overtrained, undertalented wanker, then?"

"I did?" Bradley tries to smile, but he gives up when Colin doesn't smile back.

"Yeah, you did."

"Sorry." He looks down at his lap, because it's too much holding Colin's gaze right now.

"Bradley, what is going on with you lately?" Colin sounds exasperated. "Ever since I came out things have been weird."

Bradley cocks an eyebrow.

"Okay. Weird even for you. Are you not okay with it?"

"With what?" Bradley looks up and Colin's eyes look sad.

"With me, Bradley. With the fact I'm a poof."

Bradley can't help it, he bursts out laughing, but the look on Colin's face makes him stop.

"No, Colin. God, no. That's not--" He takes a deep breath, because he can't keep it in anymore. It's exhausting, trying to pretend he's someone he's not. "I'm more than okay with it. In fact, a little too okay with it, really."

Colin looks confused so Bradley throws his hands up in the air.

"Oh bugger it. I think I'm sort of in love with you, mate. There. Now proceed to let me down easily. I mean it. Please be gentle. You know how precious I am."

Colin looks absolutely gobsmacked, and Bradley closes his eyes. He can't look at him, not when he's about to--

The kiss, when it happens, is shocking. Colin just sort of launches himself at Bradley, pushing him down onto the arm of the sofa, and Bradley doesn't have any time to do anything except hold on. Their mouths slide against each other, warm and wet and it's frantic, desperate the way Colin is biting his lips, sucking on his tongue and pressing his hips down into Bradley's.

"If I'd known." Colin is panting as he pulls back, looking down at Bradley with his red, used mouth and Bradley can't help it, he has to touch it. He thumbs Colin's bottom lip as he talks, just sliding his thumb over the grooves in his lip, slick with saliva.

"What?" he asks, "If you'd known what?"

"If I'd known you wanted me like I wanted you." He opens his mouth and sucks on the tip of Bradley's thumb. "I would've jumped you months ago. Years ago."

"Well, you know. I thought it was some subtle yet elaborate Irish seduction technique." Bradley grins and pulls Colin back in for a kiss. This one is slower, filthier, and it makes Bradley's cock ache.

He presses his forehead against Colin's, says, "I'm sorry, Cols. I really, I didn't know I could even feel that way about a bloke, y'know?"

Colin nods. Whispers, "I'd really love to suck your cock. Been wanting to for years, can I?"

"Jesus." Bradley can't get his jeans and underwear off fast enough, and Colin slides down between his legs, sucking a bruise into Bradley's thigh before he honest-to-Christ licks his lips and flicks his tongue over the head of Bradley's cock.

Colin's mouth is just as hot and wet and perfect as Bradley had always imagined it would be. And God, the sight of him, mouth open and pushing forward, Bradley's cock disappearing into his mouth, it's better than any porn Bradley's watched in his life.

Bradley has had his dick sucked many many times in his life, but this? It's unbelievable, and he still can't quite take it in when he looks down and sees Colin, staring up at him, his eyes completely dark, pupils dilated and sucking on Bradley's cock like it's the only thing he's ever wanted.

He can feel that he's not going to last very long at all, and this is amazing, but he doesn't want to come like this, not today.

"Want you to show me," Bradley half-whispers, his throat raw, "how you like to be fucked."

Colin moans around Bradley's dick and pulls off, slow and steady, watching Bradley's face the entire time.

"Are you sure?" Colin's voice is hoarse and it makes Bradley's cock twitch just hearing how used his mouth and throat must be. He nods.

Colin gets up and strips off his t-shirt and Bradley follows suit, getting rid of the last remnants of clothing he has. He's naked now and he can't help but notice the way Colin's eyes rake over his body.

"Unbelievable," Colin says, and he gets rid of his own clothes and soon the two of them have nothing between them but skin. "I knew you would be."

Bradley pulls Colin in with a hand on the back of his neck, and rocks his hips against Colin's. It feels amazing, the way they fit together, and he wants more, wants all of Colin now. Nothing less is ever going to be enough from now on.

"Bed," Colin manages to choke out, "now. Been waiting long enough, don't you think?"

Bradley just nods and lets Colin lead him, and the two of them fall onto the bed together. Bradley can feel how much Colin wants this, how hard he is, and he presses his face into the hollow of Colin's throat, whispers, "I don't even know where to start, Colin."

"I do." Colin reaches over to the chest of drawers near the bed and pulls out a string of condoms and a bottle of lube.

Bradley laughs. "Just how many of those do you think we're going to use, mate?"

"We've got all day." Colin crawls up Bradley's body, slow and feline, and whispers in his ear: "I'm thinking all of them."

Jesus Christ. Bradley is struck with an image of the two of them taking turns fucking each other for hours, shagging their way across the entire room on every available surface and ending up so sore they can hardly walk. It makes him insane with bone deep lust and he flips them over, flips Colin onto his back.

"Show me," Bradley says, almost growling into the soft skin of Colin's shoulder. "Show me what to do."

"Yes," Colin hisses, and he uncaps the lube, coating his own hand with the slick liquid. He spreads his legs and whispers: "Hold me open and watch."

Bradley feels like he's been punched in the stomach, and his cock throbs with it. He grabs onto Colin's ankles and pushes them up, watching as he pushes into himself with two fingers, mesmerised by the way they disappear into his body. Colin's face is completely awash with pleasure as he shoves his fingers in and out of his arse, and Bradley can't believe he's watching this.

"Want you," Colin groans, "want you to do this. Fuck me."

"Yes," Bradley says, not wasting any time in getting his hand slicked with the lube and then pulling Colin's fingers out, pushing his hand away and pushing inside him with three fingers. God, Colin feels amazing, so tight and hot and Bradley can't wait to feel that pressure around his dick, because it's going to be glorious.

Colin hisses and Bradley wonders if it's too much, too soon, but Colin is grinding himself down, fucking himself on Bradley's fingers and moaning like he can't get enough.

"Now," he pants out, "come on, Bradley. I need it. Need you."

Colin rips open the condom packet and slides the condom over Bradley's cock. Just the feel of Colin's long, gorgeous fingers on him is almost too much and Bradley squeezes the base of his cock with one hand while he coats himself with lube with the other, lines himself up and pushes inside slow and careful.

It's so tight. So fucking tight that Bradley doesn't know how he isn't hurting Colin, but by the look on his face, he's anything but hurting. Colin's throat is bared, his head tossed back and one of his heels is pushing into the small of Bradley's back, slipping in the sweat there and urging him on.

"You feel amazing," Bradley breathes as he inches forward until he's fully seated inside Colin. "God, Colin."

"Yeah." Colin pulls him in for a kiss: a wet, messy, rough kiss that feels more like fucking than any kiss Bradley's ever had. "Fuck me, Bradley. I can take it as hard as you like."

"Jesus Christ," he moans, and starts to fuck Colin without any thought to how rough he's being. He pulls nearly all the way out and then slams back in, trying to get deeper and deeper each time. Colin looks unbelievably wanton like this, head thrown back and teeth buried in his lower lip and Bradley wants to see him like this all the time, doesn't think he could ever get enough of it.

"After this," Colin says, his mouth on Bradley's ear, teeth scraping the shell, "I'll wait until you're hard again then suck your cock until you come down my throat. Been dreaming about it for so long."

"Me too," Bradley admits, his voice scraped raw and broken. His thrusts start becoming more desperate, more erratic. He isn't going to last much longer, not with Colin's filthy voice in his ear, urging him on. It all sounds so much filthier in Colin's accent and Bradley gets his hands on Colin's hips and fucks him even harder, even deeper. "Been thinking about it, me fucking your mouth. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"Fuck. Yes." Colin grinds out, his ragged fingernails scraping down Bradley's back before he gets a hand in between them and starts to stroke himself, fast and rough like the way Bradley is fucking him.

It doesn't take Colin long, maybe a few minutes, and then he's coming, clenching tight around Bradley and it's too much, too good, the feeling of being this surrounded by Colin, so hot and tight and perfect and Bradley can feel it, absolute white-hot pleasure building in him. He feels like he's going to explode from it, it's so fucking intense.

He manages two, three more thrusts before he buries himself in Colin, and he feels his orgasm crash over him like a wave. It's so unlike anything he's ever felt before that he feels like he's going to pass out, so completely overwhelming, the force of it and Bradley sinks his teeth into Colin's shoulder to stop himself from making the truly embarrassing noises that are threatening to come out.

He's a sweaty, exhausted, fucked-out mess and he pulls out straight away, but it takes him several minutes to get the energy together to get rid of the condom. His legs feel like liquid when he tries to move, and it doesn't help that Colin's just lying there, arms crossed and looking like the most satisfied man on the face of the earth.

Bradley groans, and he tries to stay awake, but he's so very tired. He kisses Colin and drifts off to sleep and when he wakes up, he finds Colin wrapped around him like a promise.

"So," Colin says when he sees Bradley is awake, "what's your recovery time like?"

 

 

 

the end


End file.
